His name was Bob. He was a devoted husband, supportive father, successful businessman, and steadfast friend. But in the end, no matter the role he played in each of our lives, he was one thing to all of us: An inspiration.

I hadn’t seen Bob in about 6 years, but he always felt like family. So when I took a trip to Palm Desert this past December for his memorial service, I wasn’t prepared for the impact it would have on me.

When I heard of my friend’s father’s passing, I immediately tried to get in contact with her. Because it was her dad, and I knew how it felt to lose one at a relatively young age. Because I knew how close the family was. And because it was Bob – this warm, jovial, fun-loving father-figure who had always made me feel welcomed and loved. And because I suddenly realized how fortunate my longtime friend was to have had this man at the center of her life.

Now sitting amongst the crowd in the funeral home, I really began to feel the weight of the loss. There was a wife, three grown children and a gaggle of grandkids; a mother, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, and countless friends – who like me – were always made to feel like family. I just hadn’t realized until that moment what a gift that truly was.

As we waited for the service to begin and streams of family and friends drifted in, I turned to my mom and asked her if Bob had had any faults. It seemed a silly question, and yet it was an honest one. I mean, of course Bob was human just like the rest of us. But maybe he was even more human than the rest of us, in a way that somehow elevated him to a higher spiritual plane… Mom replied that she didn’t know any of Bob’s faults offhand, and was in agreement that he had surely done something right in this lifetime.

Bob did have a strong faith, as did the entire family, but it was a quiet thread that gave them strength when they needed it and held them firmly together all those years – something I’d never quite mastered. I really can’t pretend to know the formula Bob used to design his life, except that it seemed a simple, poignant one: Work hard, play well, love even better.

The bonds between the family members (that were also always extended to family friends) were forged upon something invisible but powerful, something not all of us hold so dear or are perhaps just not gifted with in such a significant, obvious way. And I couldn’t help but feel I have been missing something profound all my life, something Bob utilized like a master.

Did he know the most important lesson of all? Was he just purer of heart? Unfettered by mental clutter? Unwavering in a certain faith in life? Did he know something that most of us do not?

It wasn’t just me who was somewhat baffled by Bob’s being-ness. Even some of Bob’s older friends recognized the elevation of Bob’s existence as someone who, even after death, is an inspiration to… well, be a little more like Bob.

Loving. Fun. Embracing. Laughing. And somehow knowing that what matters most is how we make others feel.

Somewhere within the beauty of eternity there is a new guardian rooting for all mankind. I call him Saint Bob.